humanity
Humanity topics include pieces on the real lives of chefs, professionals, amateurs, inspiring youth, influencers, and general feel good human stories in the Feast food sphere.
Where Everybody Knows Your Name (and Soft Drink Preference)
Before the advent of the internet, I remember the days of travelling with my parents and the Mobile Travel Guide. My Mom would peruse the latest volume, circling the motels and restaurants with the most stars for our stop-overs and vacation destinations. There were symbols indicating the price range and wheelchair accessibility. As life went on, I found myself working for over 20 years in a day program for adults with intellectual and physical disabilities. At the same time, my mother became increasingly physically disabled and needed my help with daily activities and leaving the house. Taking her out in her wheelchair was a major endeavor as I packed her pill boxes, flexible straws, Lifesavers for her chronic dry mouth, tissues, plastic bags in case her catheter bag leaked...even a hammer in the event that her footrest fell apart! We recalled those Mobile Travel Guides and joked about making money compiling reviews of accessible businesses and restrooms. We would give gold stars to “good” bathrooms and “handicap friendly” environments.
By Julia Schulz5 years ago in Feast
Young, Black, and Full of Flavor!
Someone once said food and story are inseparable. Allow me to add my own story to the pot. In 2014, 2015 maybe, my husband, our oldest child, and myself went to downtown New Orleans 25 miles from our Slidell home to enjoy each other’s company for the weekend. I was easily just shy of 2 months pregnant with our second child and I needed a bathroom and a bite to eat in that order. My husband mentioned that a friend of ours had linked him with an artist friend, a talented emcee who just so happened to be Conscious and a vegan chef. That’s all I needed to hear. My husband and I were entering our 6th year of marriage and we had been vegan for at least that long. “ A vegan spot in New Orleans?” I mustered up all the surprise I could. At my first meeting and sup with the in-laws, it had clearly been impressed upon me that this was the Big Easy, partially because everyone was recovering from the Itis. You know, that's what we say in African Diasporan culture hits people when they eat a heavily laden meal with meat at its center. Yes N.O. with all its panache and charm isn’t short of its soul or soul food. Ettouffe, gumbo, jambalaya originated from the humid pots of the Creole, African, Spanish, and French mamas that inhabited the area. And because part of their charm in New Orleans is making everyone feel at home, naturally a vegan restaurant would find its way there. Enter Seed. We make our way to an inconspicuous corner table to catch all the comings and goings on the floor and to spot our Artist in Residence. “You wanna try the nuggets?” my husband asks as he passes me a menu. My mind travels through time. As a young girl, my Nana would appease our wrathful appetites with homemade chicken nuggets and a mustard dip she’d make by mixing equal parts of honey, yellow mustard, and mayo. Not quite fine dining, but satisfying nonetheless. But the plate laid in front of me that day was a nod to those days. And yet it was extremely unexpected in a space I just knew would be pretentious, what with the decorum and the posh look on the hostess’s face. We finished our meal and my husband motioned for one of the waiters. “We’re looking for one of your staff, a Chef Ra” “Yes, I voice in my head. I’m rummaging around in my head, in between licks of the honey mustard heaven. I’d like to plant a big, and strictly platonic, kiss right on the cook. “Who?” asks one of the plaid clad waiters. He twists his mouth and furrows his brow, motions for another then whispers. My husband replies, “Ra Yoseph, he wears locs, he’s a rapper, he cooks here?” The waiter consults with another who goes to the kitchen which is slightly out of view before returning and saying, “Does he look like Bob Marley?” Stop, hold the press. Not every loc sporting brown skin having brotha looks like Bob Marley. And how could a major contributor to the menu be invisible? Someone eventually digs up Chef Ra who we dap up and make plans to connect with at a later date. But the whole ride home I’m plagued by the question. I couldn’t help but feel that the waiter, the hostess, were interlopers in Chef Ra’s world.
By Meri Netert Skhrrennut Benu5 years ago in Feast
Jersey Mike's
Growing up in Central Pennsylvania, we rarely ate out at restaurants. Our mother was an excellent cook and an accomplished baker, making homemade bread, cinnamon rolls, pies, cookies, and cakes. Often, my dad would admit that mom didn't like to eat out at restaurants because she had proclaimed that she could make it better and cheaper at home. As a fact, she did make it better at home. By all means, no one ever challenged her on that point.
By Babs Iverson5 years ago in Feast
Burnt ends and loose ends
I was twelve when I learned that my grandfather was the Godfather of the KC mafia. I’d seen him on the news the night before getting arrested, murder the news anchor had said. A couple of days later though, here I was, sitting across from him in our favorite local joint, called Snead’s, celebrating my birthday with some delicious kc-style BBQ. The family sat along a row of tables that the owner had pushed together, trying to accommodate everyone.
By 5 years ago in Feast
& Bring a Merlot
Boxing Day used to be my favorite day of the year. When your family came over on Christmas Day, I was under the pump. Your mother loathed me because I’m blonde, blue eyed, English, not Greek. ‘The English can’t cook – everyone knows that’, she’d rudely informed me. I rose to her challenge. Hey! What challenge? There was no challenge. Her idea of well-cooked lamb was charcoaled. Her biscuits were dry, and she always incorporated coconut and almond, both of which I am allergic to. In her lounge, the woman had placed a vase in front of my photograph; only your face peeped around the edge while I remained obscured. She hated me – but you loved me.
By Suzsi Mandeville5 years ago in Feast
Food Will Always Win Over My Heart
Valentine’s Day. It’s the holiday equivalent of a bill collector’s phone call. Yes, I’m aware of my perpetual singleness. Thanks for reminding me. Another night of eating cold Chef Boy-Ardee out of the can before writing in my cry journal and rocking myself to sleep.
By Greyson Ferguson5 years ago in Feast
"SIB"
Being human is all about context. The depth of our individual humanity can only be judged in comparison with that of others.For every adjective that can be used to describe any one of us there arises a necessary comparison.How tall? How industrious how compassionate? The answer to any one of these questions necessitates a look both inward and outward.
By Tedmond Adiele5 years ago in Feast
Working my way out of a food prison. Top Story - March 2021.
The beginning of the pandemic, around the same time last year and the related lockdowns, disoriented people worldwide. While everyone was locking themselves up, shuttering their businesses, fearing for their lives, and avoiding all outside contact to keep themselves and their families safe, one particular issue hit most people across the world the hardest, and in equal measure – how to get clean, healthy food in sufficient quantities for families to survive the lockdowns. Everyone would run-up to the grocery stores, only to find them stocked out of fresh produce (and toilet paper) and go on to find the next 3 grocery store stops in the same state. On one such occasion, after 2 hours of roaming about stores, all I could come back home with was one 2-pound cabbage and a bunch of bananas. Pretty sure everyone had similar experiences and it was not unique to me. What I didn’t realize at the time was that, even when there is no pandemic looming, for about 23.5 million Americans, this was a daily ordeal.
By One Breath At a Time5 years ago in Feast
